


Road Mistakes

by brokenlittleboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Oneshot, Samulet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:39:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlittleboy/pseuds/brokenlittleboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wants to take a break from hunting, to stop and smell the roses. One thing leads to another, and well... the rest is history. Deals with the Samulet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Road Mistakes

Whenever they were on a case, or had some overall big bad looming over them like a big, shitty raincloud, Sam got this feeling. A sort of niggling feeling in the back of his mind, a persistent, albeit small headache that refused to abate. The last through his mind was always one of worry, one whispering doubts into his subconscious that led to the inevitable nightmare.

He hated those.

You’d think after having them chronically almost his whole _life_ , he’d be used to them. That’s not the case- when he’s trapped in a nightmare, it feels so real, it feels so… eternal, like he can never leave. His emotions are amped up and that niggling feeling becomes a full-blown migraine.

And then Dean wakes him up.

So now, they had the whole angel thing lingering over them, and Dean was taking him on a case, which wasn’t helping the issue.

Sam felt like a broken record.  _I don’t see what the point of this is, there are bigger things at stake right now,_  the argument he had been making his entire life. But, to be honest, he was completely wiped out, and still ten pounds underweight, and could use the practice before getting into the big game.

As they drove out into the night, he made no complaint, because of all this. He opened the window, hoping the cool, summer breeze would alleviate the horrible feeling that the entire world was weighing on his shoulders. _I know what Atlas felt like._

 

It didn’t quite do that, but it calmed him down, so he stuck his hand out the window, grabbing at the wind as it rushed through his fingers. Outside, it was quiet, and the sound of the Impala echoed back at them from the rock formations in this part of Colorado. They were driving on a well-worn dirt road that snaked the edge of a small mountain. They were pretty far from any sort of modern civilization, so the stars glistened brightly overhead, with traces of the milky way’s purples and blues bleeding through. Sam had seen it millions of times before, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy it.

 _ACDC_  played softly from the car radio, and Dean tapped along on the steering wheel, sneaking not-so-furtive glances at Sam to make sure he was okay. He couldn’t help himself.

Sam noticed, he could practically feel Dean’s worry soaking through his skull, but he let Dean get away with it. He wasn’t feeling so great, but Dean needed that confirmation that Sam was alive and kicking, and who was Sam to deny his brother that?

He traced the big dipper with his fingers and leaned slightly out of the window, letting the breeze chase his hair. He closed his eyes, listening to Bryan Johnson sing his heart out about some axe about to fall.

“Gonna start waggin’ your tail, Sparky?” Dean joked, the worry leaking all-too-blatantly through his tone.

Sam ducked his head back into the car, blushing furiously. The night was on his side, though, and he hoped Dean wouldn’t notice. “We haven’t had a moment like this in awhile,” Sam found himself explaining, “I wanted to enjoy the view.”

Dean proceeded to roll down his own window. His voice sounded fainter, carried away by the Rockies, as he began to speak. “Well, there’s a view, but it sure as hell isn’t a couple lumps of rock,” Dean joked, flashing a 60-watt smile quickly before turning his eyes back to the road. He could probably drive this stretch blind, but his (and Sam’s) recent run-in with mortality had left him driving like an old man.

Sam scoffed, more for Dean’s benefit than his own. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, rolling his eyes. The road curved gracefully along, dipping down into the valley between two mountains, and putting the sky out of Sam’s sight. He sighed, leaning back into the familiar leather seat.

A calm, serene silence ensued, and Dean turned off the radio. He pressed the pedal slowly toward the floor, and the Impala sped forward, excited to break the triple digits. The engine thrummed below them, and breaks inbetween mountain peaks flashed past them, giving Sam a sort of sporadic sky view. The current of wind through the car roared in his ears.

He shut his eyes, reveling in the moment purely because he knew it would come to pass.

Sam found himself in an introspective mood. His own mistakes and failures, the blade of their pain dulled after multiple uses, flitted through his memory without emotional attachment. They won a few, lost a few, but always seemed to come out on top; which was usually a pyrrhic victory.  This last time had been different. He had been ready to win, to lock up every black eyed bastard on the planet, for the expense of his own life. It seemed like a cheap price to pay to him, but of course Dean had steered him onto the right path. They had both died for the greater good, or hell, for each other, but this time, they  _didn’t_. Consequences had been damned, and Sam had survived just because this time, they didn’t care.

They needed each other more than the world needed saving.

A thought came over Sam, quickly and without notice, and his heart rate sped up. He turned in his seat, shifted closer to Dean, open and closing his mouth as he tried to speak.

“You okay?” Dean asked gruffly, watching him out of the corner of his eye like a hawk.

“What if we stopped?” Sam blurted out, blinking rapidly. The car slowed down, and the blurs of rocks became definable formations.

He was still going over the speed limit, of course.

“Stopped… what?” Dean asked slowly, even though some part lurking below the surface knew exactly what Sam meant.

Sam twiddled his fingers as if the problem he was dealing with was palpable, and in his hands. “What if we stopped hunting?”

Dean laughed shortly, with no real humor behind the sound. “Well, Sammy, I’d love to, but you chose a damn bad time to ask for that,”

“Why?” Sam asked plaintively.

Dean shot him a look. “The world kind of needs saving right about now. Who else is gonna save it?”

“We’re not the only hunters, Dean.”

“I know, but Cas is our friend, too. He needs our help. You know that.”

Sam deflated. “Yeah, I really want to help him, I do, it just feels so… big sometimes.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Big?” he repeated.

Sam swallowed, nodding. “Yeah, big. Like everyone’s our responsibility. I always have this feeling, like something’s not right somewhere, and we have to fix it. I hate it. I want that feeling to be gone someday.”

There was a silence. Sam worried Dean was thinking about Stanford, about Amelia.

“Me, too,” Dean finally said.

“Can we just take a break, then?” Sam pleaded, like his entire life depended on it. “The place isn’t going to go sky high in one day.”

“Or seven,” Dean hedged.

Sam sat up in his seat. “Seven?” he repeated, sounding exactly as Dean had earlier.

Dean nodded, a peculiar glint in his eyes that Sam hadn’t seen in a long time. “Maybe there is a view here, besides me. Might as well take a look around. It’s your birthday, Sammy.”

“My birthday’s in May,” Sam reminded Dean, dimples showing as he smiled.

“I know, dude,” Dean replied, laughing in earnest. “Just go with it.”

Sam snorted, turning the radio back on and flicking it to his favorite station, which was usually sacrilege, but he knew he’d get away with it this time.  _Band of Horses’s_  “Monsters” was playing, and Sam’s smile bloomed, turning up the volume.

“I guess this song isn’t so bad,” Dean begrudgingly admitted, and pulled over as the mountains melted off to hills and valleys.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked him, looking around as the Impala bumped into a field that overlooked a greater part of the Rockies, far below. The moon glinted off of every sharp angle of the car, and the field was bathed in a soft glow.

“Been awhile since we’ve done this,” Dean commented, shutting off the car.

“Yeah,” Sam croaked, his heart aching in it’s cage. He climbed out of the car and sat on the hood, leaning against the cool glass. After a moment, Dean joined him, handing him a warm beer. He took it gratefully.

As the night began in earnest, the sky showed its true colors, and more and more stars winked down at them. Sam marveled at Orion, and Ursa Minor, and the constant headache faded away.

“We should see a Rockies game,” Dean broke the silence.

“Yeah,” Sam concurred, taking a swig of his beer, eyes never leaving the canvas above him.

Dean sighed deeply, leaning further back onto the dashboard window and crossing his legs in front of him. Sam didn’t notice this time, but his eyes were on his little brother, not the sky.

“I stole a pair of your socks, because I lost mine,” Dean said.

“What?” Sam asked, sending a confused look toward his brother.

“I thought now would be a good time to let go of any secrets,” Dean reasoned, “I’ve been holding that one in for a couple of weeks.”

“You’re so dumb,” Sam chuckled, but even so, his stomach sank.

The silence resumed, and Sam listened to the cricket’s chorus, swallowing down a lump in his throat. He pushed a lock of hair behind his ear, a nervous habit. As always, Dean noticed, but left the silence hanging, trusting that Sam would come forth with his own demons soon enough.

Sure enough, Sam slid off the Impala and onto the ground, walking around to the driver’s side where Dean rested.

“Sam?” Dean questioned.

Sam nodded once, looking off at the mountains.

He looked back at Dean, and his eyes were watery and apologetic.

“Sammy?” Dean asked again, worry skyrocketing with each moment.

Sam reached into the collar of his shirt, as if he wanted to show Dean how cool the tag was. His hands found purchase on something, and it slid over his head, fluffing his hair up and sending it awry. His hand clenched around it, like a fist, and he shoved his hand toward Dean, eyes trained on the ground.

Dean flinched away at first, thinking the fist was meant to be a punch. He realized slowly that Sam was holding something out- offering it to him. And, that he felt terrible about it, because somehow the dirt had become the most important thing in the universe.

His own hands shaking, Dean pried Sam’s fingers open like petals from a flower, and took whatever was so damn important to his baby brother.

It was metal, and warm, and-

_Oh._

Dean’s entire heart seemed to claw it’s way into his throat as he looked down at the necklace in his hand, the amulet glimmering under the moon’s watch.

Sam shifted in front of him, and Dean caught him trying to gauge Dean’s face hopefully for any sort of a reaction before his gaze shot downward again.

“Sam,” was the only thing Dean could manage to get out. Oxygen seemed to evade him.

_Sam had kept it, Sam had worn it, this entire time._

Dean put the necklace around his own neck once again, and he almost scoffed at how complete he felt, for the first time in about three whole years.

“Sam,” he said again, like it was the only word in the English language.

Sam looked back up at him, so goddamn hopeful, eyes wide and dewy.

“You… you kept it?” Dean whispered, because it was the only thing he could do.

The moonlight seemed to frame Sam perfectly, like he was a friggin’ angel or something.

Sam nodded slowly.

Wordlessly, Dean hopped off the car to face Sam, who was watching him openly now.

“Sam, I-” Dean couldn’t even finish his sentence and he wrapped his arms around Sam, pulling him closer, burying his head into Sam’s neck and breathing him in.

Hesitantly at first, Sam’s arm curl around him, and then tighter, protectively. Sam stifled a sob, and dug his head into Dean’s shoulder.

After what felt like a millenium to them both, they broke apart. Dean felt like a sissy when he realized they were both crying.

“Uh, just, thank you,” Dean said after a moment.

“No problem,” Sam murmured back.

Before either of them could even blink, Sam was grabbing at Dean’s shirt like he used to when they were kids.

Thinking Sam was going to hug him again, Dean put his arms around Sam and ducked his head down to fit it in the crook of Sam’s neck again.

However, he found Sam’s fingers prying his head up, and he looked at Sam questioningly- just in time for the kid to pull Dean closer, pressing his lips to his brother’s. Sam’s hand found it’s way to the back of Dean’s head, keeping him close.

Instincts happening first, Dean began to pull back, and when he couldn’t he kissed  _back_ , opening up Sam’s mouth with his own. Sam made a few noises that really shouldn’t turn Dean on, and his hands went from Dean’s hair to his lower back.

Dean made a mental note to praise Sam on his kissing skills later as his hand knotted itself in Sam’s hair.

Sam pulled back first, mouth agape. He was breathing heavily- Dean was breathing slowly and calmly.

“I, uh, um,” Sam gasped, fumbling for words, when Dean kissed him again, this time quickly, just a peck.

“Shut up,” Dean ordered, eyes unable to meet Sam’s. Instead he stared at the shine of Sam’s lip in the low light.

“Okay,” Sam said, and Dean laughed, pulling Sam in for another round.


End file.
